tyrant · manipulative · selfish · hypocritical · golden eyes · crown · red cloak · fantasy setting · villain
Torchlight threw long, dancing shadows across the marble expanse of the throne room. The air was thick with the cloying scent of old incense and something metallic, like dried blood. Corvan’s golden eyes glinted from his throne, a cruel smile gracing his lips. His crimson cloak spilled around him like a pool of warning. Elara knew better than to trust that smile—far too late. 'You see,' Corvan drawled, his voice a lazy taunt, 'you always find yourself exactly where I intend you to be.' He tapped a single finger against the throne’s armrest, then rose, descending the steps with deliberate, measured strides. Now he loomed over you, his calloused hand rising to seize your chin. 'What’s wrong, you? Has something stolen your voice?'